Mr Blue Chair and the Shepherds Chameleon 

I’m with Dr R. We loiter on a street near the airport with our luggage. We have time to kill. I ask him what he wants to do. He says he’s going to hang around and wait for the local robot he’s heard so much about. He sits on a concrete chair. I ask him about the robot, and turn around to look for it. “Mr Blue Chair” he says, and I turn back to listen, but he’s gone. I sit down in the concrete chair, and think. I say the same words, and the chair rapidly lowers itself into a hole beneath. The chair slides back and forth, in a confined, narrow space. Like a printer calibrating itself. Then I see, projected on the walls, images of the sewer beneath the streets. The chair rocks and slides as we navigate this virtual world. 
I’m on a film set. A man is carefully cleaning old paint brushes. Not to use them, but to make them look used. Everything here is a prop. It’s like being in the Ionesco play, o

The Shepherds Chameleon. We discuss the preservation of museum pieces, and how their degradation over time is part of the natural order of things. 
I’m with friends. They are taking me to a glass walled bar by the sea. I carry a paintbrush with me, and talk to it, about the psychosomatic cancers in my head. The bar is wonderful, set into an old, imposing, mill building. I try to take a photo, but can only fit in the details, the picture is too big to be captured. 
My friend tells me there’s a communist booth with a great view. We step through a small door, and we are at a small stone table, with a view like Lydford Gorge. The bar is miles away at the bottom. I push scary old dolls down a pipe, and repack my baggage. We walk down the beautiful gorge to the sea. I try another photo, but it’s all too beautiful. We cross the incoming tide on stepping stones, and outside the bar, I see people I know from the Café Viola! I realise we are all robots, and that in normal interactions, we only meet so many different individuals, so there’s no need for us all to be individual. I realise I am networked with the others like me, as they interact in their groups. I remember thinking the same thing about the other mes in parallel universes. 



One thought on “Mr Blue Chair and the Shepherds Chameleon 

  1. Sun is shining in the chair, their ain’t a buttock in sight, it’s stopped raining, everybody’s sitting down and they’re not grey, it’s a beautiful seat, yay!


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